The doorbell rang. It was 3am. Two men broke the silence wildly on the dark streets. One kept beating a drum, the other one blew a shepherd pipe. Everyone had to wake up. They had no other choice.
My mum answered the doorbell. It was her friend who was worried that we might have failed to wake up. She also asked her whether we had managed to prepare food. My mum was always fine when it came to food. That was her main worry after being alive; how couldn’t she be? I looked out the window as they talked in the doorway; it was dark.

My father did not move his little finger. He wouldn’t even if he was awake in his bed. That was how spoilt men were in our town. If they were not treated like a king, they had a right to become the ugliest beast and treat everyone like their subordinates apart from other men. Being a man was a power, being a woman was not only a weakness but something to be ashamed of in our little town that was run by imams. Hence marriage was the only way for women to get rid of that shame. Looking at my mother and her wasted life; it seemed to me that it was a bigger shame to be wife of a man. She was an unknown slave. She was unable to leave her husband; she knew what could happen to a woman if she was alone in this town.

My mum prepared the food and called her husband. He woke up without any sign of appreciation. We had to wait for him before beginning to eat. How could we begin without him, that was almost like a sin. And every sin was filled with fears just like my mum. Wasn’t that a sin? Wasn’t it a sin to fear a woman like her to her core?

Her husband whose sperm I had borrowed looked at her in a way to fear her more when he sat at on his cushion on the floor where my mum placed the foods on the plated in a circle shape. People believed that we had to eat our foods on the floor because that was how Mohammed dined. We still could not have our first bite because the man who I cannot even call father was supposed to do so first.
“Allah-u Akbar!” exclaimed the imam soon after we had some food under the suffocating Godship of my mother’s husband.

“I told you to wake up earlier, you idiot woman! See there is no time to enjoy my tea now! Imam is chanting the azan already!” shouted he.

What was this hellish oppression for? I had to ask myself. He pushed my mother to please himself and went to the bathroom. He washed himself in an Islamic way. Wasn’t her soul polluted in the same way? I asked myself as he came back and began reading Quran.

I looked out the window once again. The Moon was still there in the sky spending some time with the Sun before leaving us. I watched them and I made a plan…

…

I woke up and 2am next day; no one was up. I dressed up like a homeless, desperate woman who needed help. I sat in front of the mosque. The security guy came up and asked:

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine…I am okay,” said I.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Yes,” I replied.

“But you are shivering, I have a spare room if—

“Can I stay in the mosque instead?” I asked.

“But you are not allowed…and you are not covered,” replied the tall security guy.

“Can I borrow one of your wife’s headscarves?” I asked.

“Come inside, my wife is away, I can land you anything you like!” said the man and walked towards his little house in a suggestive manner.

“What is it you are landing to this young lady Ahmed?” asked a voice in the dark. I could not see his face as he stood by the big old tree.

“Noth…nothing!” faltered the security guy Ahmed and walked back to us.

“What are you doing here without covering yourself?” the voice asked me in a stricter tone.

“I cannot remember anything…I don’t know what happened…I found myself here when I opened my eyes!” I said without questioning how could ask me such questions in such tone. After all he was protecting me from the security guy whether he was doing with good or bad intention. I just wanted to implement my plan at any cost.

“That is a shame…do you remember what happened five minutes ago?” asked the man.

I looked at him, looked around, wore expression of a retard and said:

“Five minutes ago, five minutes ago, I cannot follow you sir, what do you mean?”

He looked at Ahmed and asked:

“Do you remember him?”

I looked at Ahmed and said: “No, sir!”

“That is such a shame, and unfair on a beautiful young woman like you…but Allah does everything for a good reason…come with me!” said he. I followed him to the mosque. I was right, he was the man I needed for my plan, he was the imam.

He turned to Ahmed and ordered:

“Bring a red headscarf for the young lady!”

“Sure! One or two?” asked Ahmed.

“Two!” he replied and walked into the mosque.

“Stay here, behind the door until Ahmed brings you the cover,” said he when we walked into the mosque.

“I am scared, can I go with you?” I asked.

“There is nothing to be scared of except for yourself, devil is in you woman!” he exclaimed and began climbing up the stairs. Sure it was, I was a woman, I thought to myself when I looked at him like a retard.

“Is that what Allah told you sir?” I asked.

“Hush! You will become a stone!” exclaimed he from the top of the stairs.

“Is that what Allah told you?” I asked again.

“Hush! You idiot retard!” he shouted and Ahmed opened the door.

“Cover her now!” he commanded Ahmed. He immediately covered me with a great pleasure.

“Enough!” exclaimed he and told Ahmed to leave with his eyes. Ahmed left, he was a security guy after all; he was supposed to stay outside. Who could do what to harm a small mosque like this, I thought to myself while discovering the secret language and power dynamic between two men.

“Stay there!” imam ordered me.

I did not reply because I knew I was not going to stay there. He turned right and walked through a narrow and tall door. He disappeared. I walked on my toes towards the stairs very quickly like a rabbit.

He walked into the little room where there were prayers rugs, lots of Qurans, prayer beads. He started to do some diaphragm exercises. He was going to chant the azan once again. He did not care whether people wanted it or not, he was going to chant to rule their minds before they woke up. And he was going to repeat that five times a day on the top of his lungs. No one under this sky would have a chance not to hear him chant. That had got a little to do with Allah or Islam in the secret part of his gut. There he felt like Allah.

He climbed up the steep and narrow stairs to minaret. He began chanting the azan.
I stood by the little door and watched him with the same retarded face.

“Bravoooo!” I shouted as loud as he shouted in chanting the azan like a dictator.

He looked at me; his eyes were burning with anger. I knew more or less how he was going to execute that. He turned off the microphone and shouted:

“Devil!”

I looked at him with no expression or a sign of a fear. I walked towards him with my red headscarf.
“Do you have a mother?” I asked softly.

“Yes!” replied he.

“Do you think she is devil,too?” I asked.

“No!” replied he.

“Then why do you demonise women in your preaches?” I asked as I put my right hand on his heart. I turned on the microphone with my left hand as we stood in opposite direction. He took off my headscarf.

“Because you are all evil!” said he and began touching me.

“Are you not supposed to teach us the good and show us how to be good?” I asked.

“I do, but evil always dominates the good!” replied he as he entered deep into me.

“That’s because you have never tried to dominate the evil in you but blamed women!” said I and pushed him away in the middle of his orgasm.

I knew the whole town had heard our conversation. I ran down downstairs and found the backdoor. I ran home on barefoot.Only a bird saw me.

My mum was awake praying by the window when I got home. My dad had fallen asleep wondering what to do his believes.

“Where were you?” whispered my mum when she opened the door.

“I killed the evil in all men in the town! I killed it once for all!” replied I and ran to the bathroom. She looked at me, fears and worries in her eyes as usual,did not dare utter a word.

I washed myself and heard Allah within: “You did right!” said God.

Since then I have allowed no one stand between me and my God, because we were One and had never been apart.

Hello, after a long creative week. Thank you all for your contributions that thrilled my imagination. You have just read the completion of the “Magic Book Writing Project”‘ s third story.

Those of you who had no time to take part in the “Magic Book Writing Project” last week are welcome to comment or participate in this week’s story. The first half of the story which you can complete by the next Wednesday will be published tomorrow.